


Wreathed in Hope

by appleblossomgirl



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9042698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleblossomgirl/pseuds/appleblossomgirl
Summary: Katniss and Peeta face their first post-war winter solstice in District 12 by taking on a holiday project and taking their first steps towards growing back together. A winter holiday one shot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Love in Panem's 12 Days of Christmas and inspired by @xerxia31‘s amazing Everlark Advent project, which caused my grinchy heart to thaw the tiniest bit. Last minute and unbetaed, but hopefully a stocking stuffer for all my Everlark friends. Happiest holidays to all of you. I wish you nothing but joy and warmth and love.

I could feel her slipping away again. She had slowly but steadily been getting better in the months since I returned to District 12. The starved, feral Katniss that had confronted me as I dug in the earth planting primroses to honor to the dead, her dead, had bit by bit returned to herself. We worked on the memory book. I fed her cheese buns and tried not to dwell on the renewing lushness of her body. She returned to the woods. We nurtured each other. It wasn’t a straight line of improvement by any stretch of the imagination, but it felt undeniably like recovery. But as the winter solstice approached, and darkness surged in on every side, I could sense the ebb in her tide, the incremental loss of all the ground she’d gained.

I tried not to let the worry and desperation I felt overcome me. I needed to stay focused on mending my own wounds and gaping places, without succumbing to the urge to make Katniss the center of all of my attention. Neither of us wanted her to be subjected to that kind of neediness. I tried to coax her out of her quietness with animated conversation, but it was like she was retreating to some far off land inside herself where she couldn’t make sense of my words. I cooked her elaborate meals, but she scarcely had any sort of appetite. Even as I held her at night, I could feel her withdrawing further into the dark corners of herself. 

One morning, a week before the solstice, I watched as she sat with her chin propped on her knees as she stared into the fire. Her stillness and the blankness of her eyes tore at something inside of me, making goosebumps rise on my arms. My fear made me blurt out that I wondered how Rue’s siblings were doing. Her sluggish eyes slowly raised themselves to mine and I grasped desperately at the connection, inquiring whether she knew if they celebrated winter holidays in District 11. She shook her head slightly and started to turn back to the fire. I knew it was dangerous to summon dead sisters, but I clucked my tongue and shrugged, exclaiming, “I hope someone is looking out for them. I hope they have something nice for the solstice.”

Her eyes snapped to mine, she seemed to awaken fully for the first time in days, maybe weeks. “You don’t think…” Her voice was creaky with disuse. She cleared her throat and tried again, “They must have some sort of celebration.” 

I shrugged again, pressing my advantage. “I’m sure someone remembered them. Sweet kids like that.”

She sat forward on the couch, looking confused. “I don’t remember seeing any evergreens in Eleven, do you?” 

“No, just lots of fruit trees. But those must be bare and dormant this time of year, don’t you think?”

She glanced towards the window, seemingly to verify that it was in fact the dead of winter and that our world at least was blanketed in snow. She nodded slowly. “Do you think we should send them something?” she asked. And I knew I had her. That finally she was with me again.

“You know, I think that’s a great idea.” I said, biting my lip to supress the smile that was bubbling up inside of me. Tapping my lip with my finger, I asked, “What do you think we should send?”

She chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. “Well, me and Prim,” her voice faltered, but she pressed on, “we always made wreaths. Everything you need is in the forest.”

“Sounds perfect,” I said, standing and brushing off the seat of my pants. “Where do we start?”

“Um,” she looked around, craning to look down the hallway where I knew her boots were beside the door. “Let’s get dressed. Really bundled up.” 

Moments later, the sight of her descending the stairs in her thick wool sweater and deerskin pants as she braided her hair over her shoulder, made me want to weep with relief. There she was, there was my Katniss.

Grabbing a basket and satchel, we donned our boots, mittens, hats and coats and trudged out into the snow. The sharp sting of the cold against our cheeks felt wonderful. As we made our way into the woods, Katniss explained what we were looking for. The barren vines of wild grapes that hung from the trees would be the backbone of our wreaths. She pulled the woody vines down and wrapped them loosely around her arm like rope. We spent the afternoon, wandering through the snowy forest in the weak winter sunlight scavenging treasures. We found holly berries and pine cones, bright green mosses and muted, olive-green lichens, boughs of pines and firs, feathers and acorns and nut shells.

With each treasure added to the basket, I watched Katniss come back into herself a little more. Her eyes were still clouded with pain, but that was unavoidable. It was real. This would be her first solstice without Prim and nothing could keep that from hurting. Although our families had been vastly different, I knew the kind of loss she was facing. I encountered memories of my family at every turn. But at least this project would keep her moving, focused on something other than the dull, consuming grief. 

As the sun started to dip and the cold clawed at our sweaty skin, we headed home. I warmed up some leftover stew and buttered thick slices of the rye I’d baked that morning as she cleared off the kitchen table and began to sort our forest haul.

As we ate on the couch, Katniss began to talk about her life before her father died, something I knew almost nothing about. I listened raptly as she recounted how one solstice her father had gotten she and her mother oranges, a rare winter treat. As she stared into the fire she recalled her father asking for a taste and how her mother had placed the glistening orange segment between her lips in offering. She rolled her eyes at the memory, but I could imagine it perfectly and a thrill of desire raced down my spine at the thought of tasting the sweet tang of orange juice on Katniss’ lips. 

Before her setback, throughout the fall, our physical relationship had been developing in ways I had always dreamed of. Tentative kisses had turned into the hot and breathless explorations of tongues and lips and teeth. Experimental touches evolved into practiced hands coaxing pleasure from our scarred, but hungry bodies. As much as I missed the euphoria of her mouth on my body and the shuddering moans I drew from hers, it was the intimacy of shared discovery that I longed for most since she retreated inside herself. 

To keep myself from falling down the rabbit hole of desperation that I’d never get to feel her callused fingers trailing down the sensitive skin of my stomach again, I took her empty bowl from her hands and asked how we should get started on the wreaths. 

She yawned loudly, exclaiming that she was too tired to start tonight. We put the greenery in water and stored most of the materials on the small table on the back deck to keep them fresh before heading upstairs for bed. As I removed my prosthesis, rubbing the sore skin where it met the artificial limb, I felt Katniss’ arms thread around my stomach, her warm cheek resting between my shoulder blades. Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper when she said, “Thanks for remembering them, Peeta.” 

I ran my hands over her forearms before twisting so I could slide an arm under her shoulders and settle her head on my chest. It was was one of my favorite things in the world, to feel her slight body draped over mine. Her lips found mine in the darkness and I savored every soft kiss and quiet moan and ragged breath. When she yawned again, I shifted us so that I could wrap myself around her. She sighed contentedly as she tucked her cold feet between my thighs and whispered, “Goodnight and sweet dreams.”

I took my first full breath in weeks and surrendered to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning to an empty bed, I could barely get my prosthesis fastened as my hands were trembling so hard. I made it to the top of the stairs with my heart in my throat before I heard it: a quiet, throaty hum. I’d only heard her sing a few times in my life, but it was a sound I would never forget. I caught my breath, waiting until my heart rate had slowed to a normal pace before making my way down the stairs. 

Katniss turned with two mugs in her hands and a plate of toast balanced on one. Her face broke into a smile as she saw me and my heart resumed a gallop. 

“Rats, I wanted to bring you breakfast,” she huffed.

I brushed my lips against hers and took one of the mugs from her hand. “I love it. Thank you.” We munched toast and drank our tea in front of the fire, then got to work. We had just assembled the wreath-making materials on the table when we heard a knock on the door. Katniss and I glanced at each other nervously before I answered it. A surprisingly lucid Haymitch stood on our doorstep with a vase full of dried flowers under his arm. 

“Are you gonna invite me in or watch me freeze to death on your porch?” he demanded. 

I moved aside, ushering him in. His nose and ears were bright pink, but he didn’t smell as strongly of white liquor as I expected. 

He placed the vase on the table and Katniss, re-entering the room with arms full of pine boughs, visibly flinched, asking in a pinched voice, “What are those?” 

“Don’t worry. Not a white rose among them,” Haymitch responded reassuringly. “I saw you two coming back from the woods last night, and thought you might appreciate the extra decoration. They’re just something Effie left ages ago and they’re gathering dust over at my place. I was afraid they might be a fire hazard.” He glanced around. “You are decorating, aren’t you?” 

“We’re making wreaths for Rue’s siblings,” I answered. “Wanna help?”

“How ‘bout I supervise. You got any more of that bread lying around?” I nodded, preparing him a plate and a mug of tea, which he sniffed at skeptically before drinking. 

As Haymitch ate, Katniss walked me through the basic procedure of wreath-making, first twisting the woody vines into a circlet, then weaving the evergreens through the vines. Once she started assembling the second wreath, I entwined small tufts of moss and lichen-covered bark over patches of exposed wood. Then I began customizing the first for Rue’s eldest sister. I wove in holly berries and some of Haymitch’s dried flowers. The resulting wreath was really lovely. 

The second was for Rue’s brother and I chose feathers for his. There were blunt-tipped, copper-brown wild turkey feathers, deep blue-black feathers from mockingjays and a rust and black striped tailfeather from a hawk of some sort.

It wasn’t all that different from decorating cakes or painting, just a different pallet and materials and I got lost in thought wondering how I could incorporate some of these elements into my next painting. I felt Katniss’ attention before I caught her staring at my lips. My tongue was caught at the corner of my mouth as I brushed the feathers against my palm. Her cheeks flushed and I would have paid good money to know what she was imagining in that fleeting moment. 

Haymitch cleared his throat, glancing between us, then announced, “Time for bed.” He trundled back out into the snow promising to come to dinner on the solstice the night after next.

I ran to my studio for my paints and began decorating the acorn caps. Katniss ran upstairs and reappeared with an elaborate headdress from which she began to unravel a series of red and burgandy ribbons. “Cinna wouldn’t mind,” she said shrugging. As she wove the silky ribbons through the evergreens, she talked. Now Katniss has never been anything close to chatty, but it was as if the nimble working of her hands had loosened her tongue and stories of Cinna’s ingenuity and creative resistance and Rue’s quick mind and effervescent laugh poured out of her. When I ran out of acorn caps to paint, I quietly transitioned into making cookies since the flow of her words seemed predicated on both of us having a task. But I was utterly consumed by her stories and the sound of her voice as my hands mixed batter by heart. This, I thought, this was how to heal.

It was early afternoon before we had finished the wreaths. As I layered them in butcher paper to pack into a crate, Katniss told me to wait a moment before dashing outside. She came back in with snow dusting her raven locks and clinging to her eyelashes, her cheeks pink with cold and her eyes sparkling and bright. My heart clenched painfully at the sight of her. I reveled in the knowledge that whatever we had endured to get to this moment, it had led to me sharing the infinite gifts of knowing her.

Out of her clenched fist, she drew a handful of twigs. She twisted a twig into each wreath. “From the primroses you planted,” she explained with tears shining in her eyes. “She’d want to be part of this.” I wrapped my arms around her belly and rested my chin on her shoulder as she added a token of her fallen sister to each gift. I had never loved her more. 

After a quick lunch, we added a note of holiday well wishes and a parcel of cookies to the crate. Perching it on the wagon, we walked, mittened hand in mittened hand to the station to send it on the final train. 

As the sun fell behind the trees, the cold crept out in earnest. We hurried home, haloed in the fog of our mingled breath, the crunch of show beneath our boots. I stoked the fire and took my place on the couch beside her. She snuggled into my side and I wrapped my arm all the way around her. It was peaceful, but felt too quiet. The sensation of her slipping away from me too fresh. Before I could second guess myself I said, “I wonder if our neighbors have wreaths?”

“Who, Haymitch?” she snorted.

“No, the new families and folks that have returned to the District.”

She turned in my arms and peered up at me. “We have all day tomorrow,” she mused thoughtfully, “how many do you think we’d need to make?”

We counted families on our fingers and made some quick calculations. She hopped off the couch and offered me a hand. “Sounds like tomorrow is going to be a big, big day,” she chirped and I laughed, heaving myself up and kissing her on the nose. “Let’s get to bed.”

We were both exhausted, but sleep didn’t come to me at first. My mind felt tight and anxious so I practiced the breathing exercises Dr. Aurelius that taught me. That night I fell asleep to the weight of her head on my chest, her intoxicating scent of woodsmoke and pine sap and floral shampoo surrounding me and the glorious feeling of her small fingers tracing shapes on chest, etching her touch into my heart. 

The next morning we got an early start. Since I required less direction, we split off a bit, searching for our materials. We had brought the sled, since the wagon would have sunk in the snow and I was in charge of loading and pulling it. While the woods still felt fraught with danger, I could also feel the magic here and understood why it was such a solace to Katniss. I caught sight of her, her arms outstretched and head tipped back to the weak winter sun and I felt privileged to share this part of her.

As birds flitted about, Katniss scampered up trees returning with a tiny abandoned nest or a branch of mistletoe. I puckered my lips and raised my eyebrows suggestively at the sight of the mistletoe, but she just scowled halfheartedly and told me to control myself since we had work to do. As much as I was dying to lay her down in the snow and kiss her senseless, I was overwhelmed with wonder watching her work. It was a small window into all of the time I had longed to know her, wondered what she did all day in the woods. It also allowed me to understand how she and Gale could have spent so much time together and not hooked up, something I don’t think I truly believed until that moment. I felt a wave of rage crest in my heart then dissolve into foam as I shuffled then straightened out the facts in my mind. I reveled in the certainty of something real.

As she dropped a load of evergreen bay branches onto the sled, my stomach growled loudly enough for her to hear it. She rolled her eyes and unslung her bow in one fluid movement that belied her dual status as teenage girl and mythical huntress before she expertly shot our lunch out of a nearby tree. 

Katniss cleaned and prepped the squirrel and I began to inventory and organize our haul. After lunch, we got started and worked through dinner and into the night, becoming a well-oiled, wreath-making machine. Working shoulder to shoulder with Katniss was not without its challenges. Her scent. The soft wisps of her hair that brushed my shoulder as she leaned across the table. The barely suppressed urges to lay her across that table and bury my face between her legs until she came on my tongue, gasping my name. There were more than a few times I had to press myself against the smooth wood to hide the evidence of her affect on me. 

By the time we had finished and loaded the sled it was nearing midnight. After propping a wreath on Haymitch’s doorstep, Katniss grabbed a lantern and we headed out into the night, wending our way into town more from memory than sight. 

It started out as a serious mission, both of us focused on our task of quietly delivering our gifts under the cloak of darkness. But as the sled emptied, Katniss playfully elbowed me out of the way as she placed a wreath on a particular doorstep. And I respond by subtly increasing my pace as we moved towards the next house. She jogged a few steps in an effort to overtake me and then we were racing each other, suppressing laughter with mittened hands as we charged down the road. It was dark and icy and I should have known better than to try to run under those conditions, but I was having too much fun to even remember such a depressing limitation and suddenly found myself sprawled face down in the snow. In an instant, Katniss was by my side, turning me over carefully and inventorying me for damage or injury.

But I’d be damned if I let my clumsiness dampen the light I’d seen in her eyes moments before. I levered up on my elbows and kissed her nose, inquiring softly, “Help a klutzy guy up?”

A flash of surprise crossed her features before she grinned and grabbed both my hands in hers. She braced both booted feet against my prosthetic and pulled me up. Once I had my footing, I wrapped my arms around her and breathed my thanks into her neck, placing a frigid kiss on warm skin above her clavicle. Then I took off running again. With a squeak of indignation, she went flying past me.

As we rounded the burned out remains of the old justice building, I caught her around the waist and pulled her against me. Her mercury eyes, like slivers of starlight, met mine. She reached up to brush some snow from my hair and the sight of her coat stretched tightly over her breasts made my stomach flip pleasantly, warmth spreading through my chest. 

We were both breathing hard as I collapsed against the side of the building, gathering her to me. The solidity of her body was intoxicating. Maybe it was the velvety darkness, or the adrenaline of the race or miraculous fact of our hearts beating and our breath fogging the air amidst the ruins of our District, but I needed to touch her. Violently shaking off my mittens into the snow, I grabbed handfuls of her, needing contact against every inch of me. I was shocked all over again that such a small body could contain such an expansive spirit. Like she had been distilled down the very essence of everything I desired. I knew I couldn't be who I wanted to be without her. And I was pretty sure that being with me would allow her to be something more too. I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to take care of her. I wanted to help her thrive. This, in a nutshell, was the unique alchemy of us. 

“You and I… We were always meant to be a team. We’re better, we’re stronger, together,” I breathed into her icy ear and traced the shell of it with my warm tongue. She shuddered and pushed harder against me. 

“Show me,” she demanded, levering up on her toes so she could stare challengingly into my eyes. 

I spun us around so her back was pressed against the stones and I could use the building to support her. I brushed my tongue along the open seam of her lips and she moaned. As we kissed, I dipped down to capture first one then the other leg just behind her knees. I pulled her legs up until she was straddling me and she hooked them together just above my ass. A ragged groan tore from my throat as I thrust my hardening cock against her. Even through both of our pants I could feel the heat of her. 

Using the building for leverage she arched and ground into me, making these delicious breathy little moans each time her center slid down my shaft. I had to brace my forearms against the building to keep from thrusting back, fearing I’d crush her under the weight of my body and my need. 

I broke the kiss to take several freezing gulps of air, before resting my forehead against hers. “Damn, Katniss, you feel so good,” I murmured. “I’ve missed you like this so much.”

Her eyes snapped open and she stared into mine as she rasped, “Take me home, Peeta. This is exactly what I needed. You’re exactly what I need.”

With one quick kiss, I spun around, pulling her onto my back. I bent down to retrieve my mittens then took off towards home. She urged me to put her down, concerned about my prosthetic, but her added weight was negligible and this way she wouldn’t see the tears streaming down my cheeks. After a moment or two of struggle, she surrendered to my piggyback ride and wrapped her arms tightly around me. 

As soon as we made it into the entryway, she slid down and pressed me against the door, reigniting a searing kiss. We stumbled backwards down the hallway, knocking into the walls as we felt our way blindly, our kisses as demanding and necessary as air.

When the backs of her knees hit the couch, she collapsed onto it. I braced myself on the back of the couch to keep from crushing her. We stared at each other, cheeks pink, eyes bright, chests heaving before we both started stripping off our clothes. I had managed to get my pants off my good leg by the time she was naked. I froze, just stared at her agape. I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do more: ogle the gorgeous sight of her bare before me or press every inch of my skin against her. A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled me down, my pants still trailing from my prosthetic. It was the best sound I had ever heard. 

My mouth mapped her body, pausing to savor the peaks of nipples and the valley of her belly button. She stopped my descent by pulling my arm upwards.

“I need to see you,” she said, her voice raspy with need.

As I settled next to her, I was careful to keep my erection from poking or prodding her. As demanding as my body was, what I wanted most was to make her feel good. There were many experiences we were in no way ready for. We had never even touched on the subject of sex, and most of our nocturnal fumblings had been confined to our bed. I had learned her body by touch, but never had the luxury of seeing her awash in dancing firelight. This was new and unbearably exciting, but I needed her to know I wouldn’t push her.

I took a deep breath to tell her all of this, but she put her fingers over my lips and whispered, “I know, we’ll be careful,” before replacing her fingers with her lips. 

Her hand snaked down between us wrapping firmly around my throbbing dick and I gasped into her mouth. We turned so we were lying on our sides, staring into each other’s eyes as our hands stroked and circled. I memorized each touch that made her quake and pant and moan, slipping my fingers inside of her and reveling in the feel of her squirming against my hand. 

As her hand began to drag against my skin, she pushed my hand aside, coating her fingers with her slick arousal before sliding her lubricated hand down my shaft. I almost came from the shock of how incredible it felt, but I gritted my teeth and threw my head back as I fought for control. 

The wicked gleam in her quicksilver eyes, spurred me into action. Taking deep breaths, I forced my body to relax so I could focus on her pleasure. Withdrawing my slick fingers, I traced them upwards until they slid over the hood of her clit. Her breath caught and her hand slowed as I rubbed lightly, experimenting with different patterns, stroking back and forth and in small, tight circles.

Her hand had stopped moving on my cock, and was now wrapped firmly around me squeezing rhythmically. Even this sensation, combined with sight of her flushed and moaning as she gyrated against my fingers had me nearing the edge.

I lessened the pressure of my movements, wanting to prolong this, to never let it end. But I should have known better, Katniss was not a patient woman. She pushed her hips upwards to chase my hand. When I pulled back, she used her other hand to grasp my wrist in a death grip, focusing the pressure of my fingers where she wanted it most. With her whispered plea of, “Peeta, please” I lost all semblance of control and did exactly as she asked. 

As I felt her muscles quiver, I watched her gorgeous face contort in pleasure, her eyes closing as her mouth dropped open. I thrust into her hand, unable to control myself at the sight of her coming, the world unraveling in a kaleidoscope of pleasure as I came with a grunt. 

We lay side by side, gazing into each other’s spent and euphoric faces as our heart rates slowed.

“Happy solstice,” she whispered, brushing her lips against mine. 

“Happy everything,” I sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. 

“Next year I’ll start collecting earlier, saving summer and autumn treasures for the wreaths,” she mused. 

My heart leapt with the promise of next year. I speculated that there would be more families, more children as the our District recovered and she smiled up at me, tracing my eyebrow with feather-light fingertips.

I leaned in and kissed each of her eyelids. She laughed softly into my shoulder and my heart swelled with the unbearable intimacy of it. “So it just gets lighter from here on out, right?” she asked, yawning.

I pulled a blanket over us, snuggling into the softness and her warmth. I couldn’t keep the joy from my voice as I whispered, “Lighter and brighter and better. Always.”


End file.
